Compost Studios

While the work I encounter in the blogosphere often moves me or makes me laugh out loud, it's rare for me in my time-pressed and word-soaked world to come back to a blog post and read it over and over and over again. 

This piece by Jane has me doing just that. It is poetry and prose melded into one.

It's mothers and daughters.

It's Good Girls and the Grrrls Who Just Want to Be Free.

It's the voice of every artist and thinker who has nurtured their creative impulses like a child that needs discipline, freedom, and unconditional love.

It's our ongoing struggle to be fully ourselves and fully present in the world.

It's ALL that and more.

Check it out.

I dare you to read it only once. Tell me what you think.

June 28, 2008

In my eagerness to get moving studying art, I signed up for both a watercolor painting class and an acrylic painting class, one on Wednesday, one on Thursday.

 This was a mistake.

Both classes demand more time than I anticipated, and it's been expensive to purchase supplies for two classes at once. (I didn't have a supply list in advance for either class, and because I'm truly a beginner, I'm having to get everything. I can use the same brushes for both classes, but everything else is different--stretched canvas vs. watercolor paper, easel vs. clipboard, acrylic vs. watercolor paint, etc.)

Another issue is that the techniques and approach to the two media are completely different. I think I'd do better to focus on one at a time. Without thinking, I bring acrylic techniques to watercolor and use too much pigment or muddy my colors with attempts to paint over an area. Other times I use watercolor techniques with acrylics and end up with too much water in my paint and too much white space peeking through.  It's better to be grounded in one media before trying the other so that if you bring techniques from one media to the other, it's done strategically and with purpose.

I've loved my acrylic class, which is small and personal and is very much a learn-by-doing atmosphere.  The participants are all true beginners, and the instructor paints as we paint, explaining her approach and methods and giving tips as we go along.

In creative work, if I'm subjected to too much lecturing and too many rules, my brain becomes preoccupied with sorting out and organizing all the information, with doing things "properly."  The thinking half of my brain overcomes the intuitive side, and I become blocked, my work loses its energy, I stall and can't find my way out. The acrylic class is a good match to my learning style. 

My watercolor class has been much less satisfactory. As I mentioned in an earlier post, it's a large class (25 students!)  with a broad skill level. Some people are true beginners; others are seasoned artists who have exhibited or sold their work.  Because of the size of the class, there's very little, if any, personal attention. The instructor doesn't paint along with us, so we don't get a demonstration on how it's done.

Some of have no idea how to even start, others are eager to advance skills that are already good. We're taught by doing homework on our own and having our work critiqued in front of the class. For me, this has been less effective. I don't feel I'm learning enough for the time I'm investing, both in class and out of class.  I don't know any more about watercolor now than I did when I started. I have learned some composition and perspective lessons, but not how to handle the paint. So yes, I'm disappointed, and I won't pursue another watercolor class like this anytime soon. Yesterday I decided to stop attending as the class is almost over anyway. 

So one class has been a joy, the other more work and less satisfaction. The plus side: now I know what I'm looking for in a class. If you do try a class in an area of interest and it bombs, don't give up. Analyze what went wrong and look for an opportunity to pursue your interest in a setting that better matches your learning style. 

I'll close with my one and only completed watercolor. The composition  is static and it took me forever to do:

Thanks for all the comments on my last post and my journey into painting. I hope that by putting myself and my art out there, I'll encourage some of you to try that "thing" you've always been interested in but either didn't think you had the talent for or didn't have the time to pursue it. Maybe it's some genre of art or cooking or photography or creative writing or gardening or geneaology or history or sewing or quilting or knitting or carpentry or woodworking or working on cars or something else altogether.

I think everyone has "something" that bubbles up and keeps being pushed down by circumstances or self-doubt. Pay attention to that secret wish that keeps bobbing up to the surface and pluck it out of the water and give it life.  Don't let your dream drown and become your secret sorrow, your private regret.

Dare to try something new or reacquaint yourself with an old love. Allow yourself to be mediocre at something so you can learn to get better at it. It's a cliche, but we have to risk failure to succeed, and risking failure and judgement is hard. Those who are very successful in some area of life don't like to start at the bottom with a new enterprise. Those who have fragile self-confidence don't want to be criticized and have any more negative voices joining the chorus in their head.  I am both those people!

I have to constantly push myself to step out of my comfort zone, to remake my image of myself, to see a different person than the one I've been conditioned to see. We have to be willing to make compost out of some of our old ideas about ourselves and fertilize new growth.

Where to start? Try your local community recreation center. It's been a great gateway for my journey into art. The classes are not too expensive and encourage people to come as they are--with whatever level of interest, skill, or talent they have. There's a time and place for you to explore new territory--dare to find it, dare to just do it, dare to do it badly and improve.

(What hobby/interest would you like to pursue?)

June 25, 2008

My first art class was all about painting a landscape in black and white. I was stunned at the results. I expected to be embarrassed by my efforts, and instead I felt pretty good about them.

For our second class meeting, we had to bring a photo of a flower arrangement and paint a still life inspired by the image during class. Here's the photo I brought with me, a scene from my kitchen in Belgium:

It was encouraging to see how much I improved from the first canvas to the second. I'm not good at spatial relationships and perspective, and that's something I have to work on. As I train my eye to "see" in new ways, my ability to add dimension to my compositions will improve. Now they all seem a bit flat to me. In time I hope they'll become more dynamic, especially as I master light and shadow. Lots to learn, but I'm making progress and that's what counts.

June 23, 2008

When I lived in Belgium, I missed the ease of shopping in America. I didn't enjoy shopping in Belgium at all, and in some ways, that was a very good thing.

Moving back to America, I couldn't wait to have shopping be easy again, but I was concerned that I'd fall back into the American consumer mindset. Shopping is not a form of recreation for most of the people I met in Europe, something to do for fun or to fill time on a holiday. The quest for bargains and the sale mentality are different as well. Big sales in Belgium come at specified times twice a year and that's it.

Since arriving here in March, I've definitely enjoyed being able to buy whatever I need when I need it, and I love the customer service. However, I've been single-minded in making a shopping list and sticking to it, even in places like Target, Wal-Mart, and the mall where there are so many happy distractions and low prices trying to loosen my grip on my wallet. I've stuck to my "Find it, buy it, and leave" philosophy. No strolling, no browsing, no checking out the big sale at Macy's. No clothes, decorative objects, candles, books, CDs, or scented lotions unless they're on my list--and they don't make it on my list unless I need them.

When it comes to shopping, I'm in, I'm out. I'm so proud. 

Except when it comes to arts and crafts stores. I had not gone into them at all since moving back in March, but then the painting classes I signed up for meant I recently had to venture into these Retail Dens of Iniquity to get painting supplies. These are the places where EVERYTHING tempts me and I can (and do) browse forever.

I linger long over the rubber stamping displays, carefully checking out all the images and imagining their possibilities. I have a weakness for nature-themed stamps--birds and leaves--as well as rustic or vintage backgrounds and interesting elements that can used a lot of different ways (clocks, compasses, scrolls). Paper with subtle patterns featuring shades of brown, green, indigo, plum, or mustard wow me. Then there are all the art-themed magazines. Did you know there's a periodical called Artful Blogging?  I bought my first issue in the craft store last week.  So much inspiration!

Ink has never been a particular weakness, but now I find myself interested in all the colors and formulas, the textures, and effects. I wonder about Staz-On, the Tim Holtz alcohol inks, chalk ink, and the spectrum pads. I want to see how they work, what you can do with them.  And what about the metallic inks and those cool pearl things that can be added to other media and sponged or spritzed on surfaces? Ooh. Aah. I'm curious about all the ways to mix paints and/or inks and create special effects through different techniques or cool tools.

I'm not into embellishments or rub-ons or stickers. I like my designs to be simple, and I only occasionally use ribbon, twine, or brads. I can pass quickly through those aisles. I love printed tape though and wish there were more designs. I'm thinking of making my own by dyeing First Aid tape.

So much to see, so much to consider, so many items in the art store that set my imagination ablaze with possibility.

What stores do that for you? Which ones make you forget your list and wrestle with your spending resolutions? Which stores are a true destination for you, not a just a necessary stop on your way somewhere better?

June 13, 2008

If my first watercolor painting class last week was intimidating in terms of size and skill level of the participants, my first acrylics class was the opposite. There were only three other students, all beginners. We met in a cozy studio, not a cavernous gym, and when I showed up without a canvas, the instructor smiled and with a twinkle in her eye called me "A bad, bad girl! A very bad girl!" And then she gave me one she'd stretched for herself.

I knew right then this was the class for me, because beginning as a Bad Grrrl means there's only one direction for me to head--and that's UP.  (And here's a secret: I often call myself a Bad Grrrl and it's a relief to have someone else say it in the exact same forgiving spirit that I use when I reprimand myself for small lapses.)

The instructor was lively, full of energy, humor, and encouragement--eager for us to jump in, get paint on our hands, and MAKE ART. This is exactly the approach I needed. I'm definitely a member of the Just Do It School.

In 90 minutes, I did three paintings using black and white paint, a paper towel, and a sponge brush. So here, dear readers, are samples of my first acrylic paintings EVER, first paintings of any kind actually:

Black and white acrylic on canavas.

black and white acrylic on paper

June 4, 2008

I was a communications major, and my senior year in university, I was required to take art appreciation, studio art,  black and white photography, and publication layout and design. I had never taken an art class in my life and was surprised how much I liked studying the visual arts.

I became a regular at museums and galleries and noticed design and photography wherever I went.  I had a good eye, had studied composition and color theory, but I lacked basic skills and never did anything artistic at home. I longed to be an artist but couldn't see a way of making that happen.

Fifteen years passed.

When my life took an unexpected turn and I became an expat, I began to dabble in rubber stamping, card making, scrapbooking--more crafts than art.  A small step in the right direction. Less than two years later, when I crossed the line into art journaling and collage and began mixing media, I slowly started to consider myself an artist.  No, not an Artist, just an artist--someone who didn't claim to be "good" at art but who made it anyway.

I gave myself permission to be mediocre, knowing that the only way to become better was to accept that I had a lot to learn. Yeah, I knew I was starting late in life, but so what? The only things keeping me from being a better artist were the voices in my head saying, "You don't have a talent for this" and "It's a waste of time."

The truth is that few people have "natural" talent. Most successful people in any field have a passion for what they do, and this makes them work harder and longer than everyone else. If I enjoy making art, it's worth my time. I used to be a person obsessed with perfection. It brought me lots of recognition and awards but not a lot of happiness. Midlife has brought me to a wonderful place where I'm all about process and not about product.

While living in Belgium, I signed up for art classes more than once but every time something blocked my path. Classes were cancelled because not enough people were participating, another had to be re-scheduled and the new schedule didn't work for me.  Lacking formal instruction, I muddled along, often feeling  thwarted in my attempts to advance my skills. I got books on mixed media and started reading art blogs, picking up info and inspiration wherever I could find it.

After moving back to America in late March, I made signing up for classes a priority. My first class met Thursday, a beginning class in watercolor taught by a well known regional artist. We were told to bring "whatever watercolor supplies we had on hand."  I expected what I had was fine, that there would be about ten people in the class, and that everyone would be a true beginner like me.

When I showed up, I walked into a room with more than 25 people in it. About 75 percent of them had degrees in art or art education or were members of art guilds and exhibited their work. They walked in with impressive supplies and big "art boards" to clip their paper to. I pulled out my inexpensive brushes and pigments, my Wal-Mart palette and puny pad of 9 x 12 inch, 120 lb. paper and had a nice big slice of humble pie! 

I learned that good watercolor paper costs about $4 a sheet, that a mid-range brush would cost $25-$50 each, that I should expect to spend several dollars per tube for the least expensive acceptable quality watercolors. And that yes I needed an art board to paint.  Who knew? No problem, I could upgrade my supplies a bit.

As I listened to many of my classmates talk about their frustration with painting, their inability to "control" the media, their concerns about the quality of their work, their multiple fears and questions over our assignment ("Sketch? We have to sketch? On what kind of paper? With what sort of pencil? What should I sketch? How do you want it?"), I realized that despite my inexperience and crappy supplies, I had a big advantage over them.

I didn't care about the "correct" pencil or my lack of drawing skill. I wasn't worried about choosing the perfect subject for my first watercolor. I wouldn't agonize over composition. I wasn't going to become intimidated by the level of skill in the room.

I was there to learn, to make art, to have a good time, and not to fret over all I didn't know or have. After all, anything I pick up in this class will be more than I knew before.

Maybe I'm in over my head.

Maybe I'll be embarrassed.

Or maybe I'll discover that my lack of fear will take me places a $50 brush can't.

May 30, 2008

Everyone talks about sustainable design, but my nephew Joe Gebbia and his friend Matt Grigsby are actually doing something about it.

As I mentioned here, Joe is a product and graphic designer and an entrepreneur who launched a company while he was still a student at the Rhode Island School of Design. After graduation, he and Matt  founded an organization  called Ecolect which caters to industrial designers looking for materials to use in "green" design.  Ecolect's mission is "to be the largest freely accessible sustainable materials library in the world."

Ecolect is accessible online via an easy to use Website featuring only materials with sustainable attributes. It includes user reviews and images, case studies, and a blog and helps designers find vendors for sustainable materials to use in their products and projects.

It's a creative concept serving a creative community working toward a better future.  If you or someone you know is using or researching eco-friendly design, send them to Ecolect.

May 7, 2008

the prompt: what are you afraid of? really afraid of?

i'm afraid:

i will turn into a shapeless dumpling

of the day i won't be able to go out walking in the woods

the meds won't work

i will never be loved that way again

i will never love that way again

i've fallen off the pedestal he put me on years ago

i will hide behind khakis, loafers, my address, his income

i will be silenced

people will discover i'm not so smart after all

i'll stop sharing the truth of who i am

i'm a fool for sharing the truth of who i am

i'll be forgotten by people i want to remember me

i'll never again be held just for the sake of being held

i'll never be able to support myself

i've lost my faith

i will never see you again

and never get over it

i'll travel to the end of my life still hungry

with no one to hold my hand. 

What are you afraid of?

May 4, 2008

What is she sitting on? Go to www.critbuns.com and find out

My nephew Joe's artistic ability bloomed during his teen years, and he was accepted at the prestigious Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) after high school graduation. Not only did he double major in graphic and industrial design, but during his freshman year, he came up with a concept for a unique seat cushion to use on hard surfaces like benches, stools, bleachers, plastic chairs, and even the floor. While still in school, he worked to take his idea from concept to prototype to production to business.

Demonstrating determination and entrepreneurial spirit, he weathered the sting of countless rejections to find vendors and distribution channels for his cushions. Among the stores you can find his product? The Museum of Modern Art gift shop in NYC. He recently was interviewed as part of a front page article in USA Today and is distributing his product internationally. He's only 26 years old.

He has a very cool,  creative business Web site (which also has been recognized for outstanding design). You can view it here.  If you click on the site's blog, you're likely to get a good laugh out of the comment I left there on the April 7 post (the one currently on top).

Check it out!

April 27, 2008